


Of Friends and Foes and Idiots

by Odile (Odileheroin_e)



Series: Letters to Bioware (emotional vent for shocking twists in video games) [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age II Spoilers, F/F, Light Angst, Mental Breakdown, Post-Dragon Age II, Varric babysits drunk!Hawke, Varric's POV, drunk!Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:34:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odileheroin_e/pseuds/Odile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Bethany dies. Then the Fade happens. And then the whole dirty business with the Templars and mages starts and Meredith deals a low blow and Anders makes a mess. No wonder Hawke ends up screaming bloody murder and death-threats outside the city. </p><p>(Author vents her feelings about the twists and turns of the story in the form of a fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Friends and Foes and Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, another "letter to Bioware", now that I finished DA2. Only, this one isn't a letter. I just felt like Hawke isn't really the type to write letters like the Inquisitor may be, so I made a rather pathetic attempt at trying to mimic Varric's style of storytelling. But, well, "since it's a vent fic"...
> 
> This isn't the most Anders-positive fic there is, and my Hawke kinda loses it with him. (As did I when playing. Don't get me wrong, I get his motivations and I actually like him as a character, but boy oh boy is he a stupid foolish idiot)

_"You'll be a wealthy woman, Hawke. It wasn't all for nothing."_

_"You make it sound like I sold my sister."_

 

Every time someone said "Bethany", a very tight little smile was immediately carved on her face. It was eerie, almost; the automatism, if not the completely mirthless facade "smile" itself. And things got worse after the trip to the Fade: Isabella and Merrill both turned on her, and Anders being less Anders and more Justice probably wasn't exactly comforting. She forgave both of them, of course - _absolved_ , even - but if you had eyes to look, you could see that she didn't walk away from the affair unscathed. Anyway, what little I know about that little adventure comes mostly from Anders; Isabela was dismissive about it, to the point of forced nonchalance, and Merrill seemed to suffer a paralysis of the tongue when I asked. All I know is that she got very drunk very shortly afterwards.

* * *

 

She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and gave a hum, a sort of laughter but hollow, with the amusement carved out. 

"Mmmerill hates me."

"I'm sure she doesn't. Daisy doesn't hate _anyone_."

"Sshee hates me, I _knnow_ it."

" _Why_ would she hate you?"

"I said things wrong. Wrong things. I didn't mean any of it... but I did." A short pause. "But if I've... I'd've... _known_ she'd be... _offended_ , I wouldn't 'ave said it! Them. Things."

"Hawke, I know I'm not exactly the Paragon of sobriety or temperance, but I think that glass is one too many."

"Mmh-"

"Don't you think? I think so."

"Nnh."

"That's right. I think we ought to - "

"I... din' kill 'im becuz... I thought 'e was... 'nother 'llusion."

I was going to ask "didn't kill who", but realising she was talking about the elf-blooded boy kinda struck me dumb.

"I whas sho shure... that 'e _wazn't_ real. A... D'speer Demon... or sumthing. I whas so shure... they had turned on me..."

Since it felt like a very bad idea to interrupt now, I let her ramble.

"They took Merrill... she hates me... and Isabela... don't mean nothin' to 'er... so... 'cos Anders wasn't Anders so I figured... they couldn't 'urt 'im so they turned to me... so they were tryin' to make me... I dunno... he wanted to be killed so I figured... if 'e was a d'mon... I wouldn't. Kill him."

I have to admit, if I wasn't worried before, I certainly was after that. Her gaze went glassy, vacant, and the glass in her hand descended to the table with a heavy clunk. A small moment passed, and she let go of the glass, instead balling both her hands into fists over the table.

Here she said something so perfectly incoherent that if I didn't know better, I could've sworn it was Qunlat. Backwards.

"Repeat that for me?"

"For Isabela."

"I think we ought to get you home."

"I buy whun fo' her... she won' 'ave t' ask _demons_ fo' whun..."

And here she fell into some sort of grumpy stupor, muttering to herself with her eyes downcast to the stained stable, a clouded, drunk look smearing her usually bright blue eyes. "The biggest masts she ever seen" was the only part that made any sense, and I could've sworn there was a sexual innuendo somewhere in there, but by this time she was too incoherent for clarification, so it was useless to ask for one.

"Yeah, you can get a ship for Isabela. _Tomorrow._ Now, let's go home."

* * *

She was frantic when her mom disappeared. Ready to push anything and anyone over and out of her way, chasing the blood stains. I can only imagine the horror that struck her when she heard about the lilies and could see them sitting on the table, all innocence and whiteness, and they'd be the reason Leandra might be dead. 

And, of course, they were the reason. When that grotesue imitation of a body died, Hawke screamed. She'd wanted to say "goodbye, mom", but the perverse thrill of the chase hadn't yet faded and she was still stuck in the "why is this happening"-part. So her mom died in her arms while she sobbed about how it was all her fault. That was the first time I'd heard her talk about Bethany since she was actually alive.

* * *

 

No wonder she was ready to rip Meredith apart with her bare hands when she "reminded" her that a mage killed her mom. As if she didn't have enough apostate friends to stand up for, a dead _mage_ sister who was always treading on eggshells because of the Templars, and a healthy sense of right and wrong to honour. And as if everyone close to her hadn't noticed the way that she sometimes laughed after Leandra's death. (It was the only thing that had changed; that laugh she'd laugh to people she didn't like. It used to be pretty much the same sort of chuckle she always gave when someone or something amused her, but now it was mean, mean and shrill, sort of tight in the throat and taut at the lips.)

And then - Anders happened.

She was furious and absolutely outraged at him, you could tell. He said he would submit to her, should she choose to kill her, and by the way she gripped the handle of the Limbtaker you could tell just how seriously she was contemplating the possibility of chopping his head clean off right there. She was itching to do it - no, _pulled_ , like by gravity, to do it. But she didn't. What's more, she asked him to come with us.

When we were out of the city, though, she gripped him by the throat, rammed him against a tree and began a very loud and very angry sermon that no-one dared interrupt in the fear of her outright killing either the meddler or Anders. He barely had time to blink before she had him pinned against the tree, drawing wheezing half-breaths (she never wanted to kill him anyway), so all he could do was stare back in surprise and listen.

And she railed. She said he'd abused her trust, broken her confidence to commit a foolish, pointless act of terrorism and risked countless lives, including hers, his, and everybody else's present. Fenris and Hawke never got along all that spectacularly, but everyone knew they respected one another, even if it wasn't because of their views. Somehow, though, they'd retained a sense of honour between the two of them, and now she'd been forced to kill him - because of what Anders thought was "right" or "the only way".

As furious as she was, though, she was much more _disappointed_ than angry. She'd thought he was smarter than... well, explosions. She'd thought he cared more about _us_ \- she tightened her grip on his throat at this point - "and before you say you have to put the mage cause before individual lives, _look at yourself! Look at us!_ Didn't we all fight with you, before and after your _stupid stunt?_ Have you got any concept of loyalty? Friendship? Empathy? Love? _What is wrong with you?_ _You've caused the deaths of Maker knows how many people! You've murdered mages and Templars and innocents! They are dying in the streets because of you! Do you understand that? Do you? None of this had to happen! It's your fault! You idiot, you blithery fucking idiot!_ "

She banged his head against the tree and screamed all that (and more) until Isabela somehow got through to her and she released him. Isabela gripped Hawke's shoulders and murmured something to her. She tossed her sword to the ground and covered her face with her hands and tried to breathe deep. He coughed and wheezed and gripped his throat. From where I was standing, though, you could see that the both of them felt just hurt.

Anders picked himself up a little and swallowed. Nobody would be thrilled to have one of their best friends (because they were in good terms) accuse them of mass murder, but right there and then nobody was sure whether they should be more worried about Anders or Hawke. Neither was Anders, by the look on his face.

He called out to her, and that's when her calm broke again. Before anyone could restrain her, she had picked up her sword, literally leaped on him and pressed the blade on his throat like a guillotine.

"I wanted the best for you! I did all those things for you, I went to the sewers with you for your _fucking_ potion!"

"Hawke, _please_ , let me say _something_ \- "

"No! _No!_ I'm done with you, I'm done with your somethings and your words, _you lied to me!_ "

"I'm sorry I lied to you, but please - "

"You are, aren't you?"

Her voice had changed so entirely I could swear even Aveline pissed her pants. She sounded monotonous, like a Tranquil - except colder, because that coldness was emotion, the one thing Tranquils don't have.

"But it's too late to be sorry now. You should have been sorry much earlier. You should have been sorry before you even started, you should have told me and killed me before you lied to me..." Her voice faded to an indistinct muttering, and this is where Anders decided that Hawke was the one to worry about. She rambled on under her breath, while he lifted his right arm, _so slowly_ she wouldn't notice, and laid a hand on her armoured arm. A soft glow of magic reflected from the metal, and only seconds later she was collapsing against him. The edge of the sword had already cut into him before the fog cleared over the rest of us, and everyone scrambled to get her off him before her weight would decapitate him. Between Isabela's awkward but sincere soothing of Hawke and Aveline's tense but similarly sincere questions about whether Anders was "okay", there was a very upset Merrill trying to do both. Anders was shaken, but insisted that he was fine, until he caught Hawke's eye again.

She was looking at him again through the thin veil of the sedative spell. Perhaps it was the magic fucking with her (her face or her head, hell if I know), but her face was unreadable. The anger had left, yet something else lingered. Silence fell again, soon after.

"Leave. And don't come back."

It might have been funny any other time, because she spoke like she would've been extremely drunk and trying desperately to get something clearly across to someone else. So the spell was fucking with after all. Aveline came to the same conclusion and prepared to persuade Hawke to sleep on it and not make any drastic decisions in the state she was in, but Hawke had made up her mind. Her speech might have been slurred, but her head was now far clearer than it had been earlier. And she didn't want to see Anders anywhere around her when she woke up.

Nobody said "never", though, and despite all the things she called Anders, I'm pretty sure he wasn't quite stupid enough not to see the hurt in her eyes. Yes, she was serious when she wanted him out... but maybe she'll have him back some day.

 


End file.
